Cowboy Saviors & Undead Blood
by AZnative32
Summary: <html><head></head>For nearly three years, John Marston roamed the western frontier as an undead but a pure soul. He taught the undead skills such as to speak and walk. He became the Leader of the Undead Community. He still looks for the mask that brought them back to life. His son, Jack, is one of the few remaining survivors that will meet and join his father in this quest. 'T' for blood & gore.</html>
1. The Nameless One

He knew who he was or at least _what _he ever since he came back alive...or undead. He was John Marston, the title winning '**Legend of the West**'.

Since the outbreak of the first zombie apocalypse, he was he one who managed to restore peace to the western frontier returning the sacred Aztec mask that belonged to Ayauhteotl. Before that, he took down the three members of his old gang: Javier Escuella, Bill Williamson and Dutch van der Linde. He even helped Abraham Reyes' rebels overthrow the tyranny government run by Colonel Agustin Allende.

All of West Elizabeth was deserted and only undead roamed there. It was nicknamed, 'Undead Community' by the survivors who sought safer places down south.

The first time he came to the world as an undead, his wife, Abigail, followed soon after. She was shot dead by a passerby who mistook John as someone in trouble. That's when he realized that these undead, zombies..., whatever they were called, some of them absolutely knew who they were. These people are preachers who were buried with crosses around their neck. Others not so much but had their personalities. He couldn't imagine shooting anymore himself.

The only one detail that made him exclusively different was the holy water, blessed by Mother Superior at Las Hermanas, kept his soul pure. The only clothes he wore was his former rancher outfit which was torn and the red bandana tied around his missing left eye.

John rounded the rest of the undead to keep them safe, only the ones in West Elizabeth. He taught the undead how to speak. Hell, they could make those loud, groaning noises anyway. It took a while but the miraculous task paid off. They couldn't speak normally. Only being able to make short simple words and sentences. Another thing he taught them to do was to ride horses, undead horses only. He kept the Four Horses of the Apocalypse to himself because they chose him to be their riders.

One key element for John was that only he could use guns. He knew how to use them but the undead didn't. They hated guns. Instead, he made them bows and arrows. Teaching them to use this was tough.

The undead favored to eat the undead animals rather than human flesh. Even bats. John shot those down. However, when the living saw them, the undead couldn't help but throw themselves at them. Before they could make their moves, John shooed them away from the living before they could be seen. They slept in the abandoned post at Cochinay but John took refuge in the cave of the bear that he saved his son from long ago. He wanted to be alone.

Sometimes late at night, he'd get on his horse, Death, and ride to his former ranch in Beecher's Hope where he wandered around endlessly. He wished he could go back to those times when he was alive and see his son again. He had this feeling that Jack must be out there somewhere along with the rest of the survivors. The only living member of his own flesh and blood (Pun intended).

While searching for food on this night, he heard the galloping of horses coming his way. "Hold up! Hold up! Stop!" One of the survivors yelled. John flopped on the ground like a dead corpse and laid still to query their suspicions.

"Are you sure this is the right way? All these trees look the same to me."

"Of course I'm sure this is the right way. They did say Armadillo is southwest, right?"

The second survivor nodded in agreement clutching his horse's reins tightly in his hands. John knew every survivor made their way to the safe zones down south.

"Look, if we keep heading south first then west, we'll be there to meet with Jack Marston before you know it."

"Wait. I thought he was in Connecticut or um...,what's that other state called...Manhattan? " The second survivor said. "I heard he went to Yale or Harvard to become a writer."

The first survivor laid a hand on his shoulder. "Manhattan's in New York. He did go but he came back as soon as this outbreak happened to help others. They say he's real good with a gun, ya know...His father was John Marston and he was taught both by him and Landon Ricketts."

John flinched at the sound of his son's name. _He's alive? _He thought. A feeling in his gut was telling him he had to go see his son.

"Come on, let's get out of these here woods and let's ride to Thieve's Landing. We'll rest there for the night. HYAH!" And the galloping sound of the horses hooves faded into the night.

John whistled for his horse. He rode Death to the back road of Mescalero just outside of the MacFarlane ranch and stopped himself at the ledge and just looked with desperation at the once thriving town known as Armadillo. He wanted to go see his son but he just knew that once he stepped into survivor territory, he would be dead. The openings of the town were heavily guarded.

Unbeknownst to John, he was being followed. Thankfully it was another undead and not a survivor. He turned to look at him and looked back at the town. The undead shook his head from side to side.

"No...don't...go..." He groaned.

John tried to speak. "Want...to...see...my...son."

He so desperately wanted to see him that he shed a tear from his right eye. He only cried three times in his life. The first time was when his son and daughter was born, the second time was when his daughter died and the third was when he killed Javier Escuella.

The undead saw him cry and groaned, "Go...might...not...be...another...chance." John nodded and got back on Death and rode off. He wanted to keep his distance so he made his way towards the cactus covered hill beside him. He took out his binoculars and looked around the town searching every face of the survivors for Jack.

Just then, he saw the sheriff jail doors open. He couldn't believe his eye. There stood his son, wearing his hat, full grown in almost the spitting image of him having his strong physiques. He moved close to the town and hid behind the sheriff building listening to Jack and the survivor talking.

"Jack, are you sure you can handle it out there? These creatures are everywhere!"

Jack flicked the cigarette from his hand and rolled his eyes. "I'll be fine. I can handle a gun, okay? I grew up around gunslingers. Don't worry about me. Remember who my father was..."

The man tried to reassure himself. "Okay, your right. Just find these four survivors and hurry back! Night time is not very safe!"

Jack spit to his right side and stroked his goatee. "Where are they located?" The man handed him a map and pointed to the locations. "Well, there are two survivors located in Tall Trees but they might be taking refuge at Manzanita Post. The last two are in different locations, one is at Rathskeller Fork and the other one is at the Macfarlane ranch."

Jack took in all the information. "Okay. I'll start at Rathskeller and work my way up. Oh and Frank, I'm expecting two of my friends to be here soon, Randall Charlie and Edward Thomas. If they get here before I return, tell them I'll be back soon." Frank nodded as Jack rode off. John went back to Tall Trees and decided to meet his son at Manzanita post.

Jack rode his black American Standardbred horse to Rathskeller. Upon arriving, a mass horde of undead started to run and claw their way to him. The survivor was looking at Jack with a fearful expression. Seeing as how the undead were running toward him, he motioned for her to make her way to the exit at the east side of the wall and wait there. He shot at the three bolters who were fast game. Next were five original undead. He left the two bruisers as they were slow to move. He rode around to the east side entrance to where the woman was waiting.

She got on the horse, hugging him tightly saying and crying, "Thank you, Thank you!" over and over again. Jack turned to face her. "It's going to be okay. I'm taking you somewhere safe. Just don't let go." She smiled through her tears. It was a worrying ride back to Armadillo but they both made it unharmed. The woman looked back at Jack. "Again, thank you. By the way, my name is Sarah."

Jack half smiled and said, "My name is Jack Marston." He took out his map and crossed out the circle drawn on Rathskeller Fork.

One survivor down, three to go...

Next survivor was at the MacFarlane ranch. Bonnie, like the rest of the safe places around here, set up a guard perimeter around all exits. Her and Amos were planted atop the roof of her house over looking the property with the other ranch hands spread out. Jack wanted her to leave this place to be somewhere safe but she refused saying that her pa settled this land and that this place was her home. It was a calmer mood. The place was clear of undead...for the time being.

She heard the thunder of hooves coming to the ranch. She squinted her eyes to focus on a lone rider heading to the ranch. "Amos, look!" She pointed the gun to the fence entrance. Amos saw a dark, silhouette shadow coming closer. "Put the gun down! It's just another survivor." She lowered the weapon and motioned for Amos to go and investigate.

"Go see what he wants."

Amos made his way down the rooftop and went to greet the figure. "Hey there! Who are you?" He shouted with the repeater shotgun pointed at him. Getting off his horse, Jack relaxed his position and spoke. "Calm down, Amos. It's just me." He welcomed him into the ranch with open arms. "Sorry, Jack. Everybody is on high alert. Can't be too careful out here..." He looked behind them scanning for danger.

Jack again spit to his right side. "I know. Listen, I was told there was a survivor here in need of my help. I can get them to a more secure area at Fort Mercer. Do you know where she or he is?"

Amos pointed to the jail cell. "She's in there. Be careful, she's kinda jittery. You know, what, with all this happening." He extended his arm showing the destruction of the ranch.

Jack made his way carefully to the holding cells. The survivor was behind the bars sitting on the bed clutching her knees closely to her chest, whimpering. Jack opened the door and grabbed her hand slowly leading her outside to the horse that was waiting. He helped her onto the horse. Unfolding the survivor map, he crossed out the circle on the MacFarlane ranch location.

Two down, two to go…

Riding back to Armadillo, Frank lead the girl to a wagon that had steel bars and was loaded with other survivors. "I will take you to Fort Mercer. You will be safe there." She nodded understandingly. "What's your name?" he asked. "Anna..." she said calmly whispering. Frank spoke up. "Jack. I'm sorry but this is the last person I can fit in here. Can you escort the last two to Fort Mercer on your own?" Jack nodded. "Sure."

Just before he left, he turned back to Jack. "Oh! Jack! Your friends have made it here!" He said.

"Where are they?" He asked walking up to him.

Frank pointed to the saloon. "I told them to go wait in the saloon. I hope for your sake they are not drunk..." Jack looked down the dirt road. "Supplies are running low, Frank. I don't think there is anything left to drink in that place."

He left off with the wagon of survivors heading for Fort Mercer leaving Jack at the town. Randall and Edward sat on the steps of the saloon. Edward tapped Randall's shoulder and pointed to the person walking towards them.

"Hey Jack!" Ed shouted, waving.

"Hi guys!" Jack returned the wave.

Randall got up and stood firmly in front of Jack. "Well, look who it is...Mr. Bigshot writer. I'm surprised you even remember us..." He joked sarcastically. Jack rolled his eyes. "Whatever, look, I need you guys as helpers to find other survivors." Randall spoke. "You're the most famous gunslinger. Why don't you do it yourself?" He got up in Jack's face making him sneer.

Ed pushed the two apart sensing an argument about to happen. "Randall! Drop it!" He turned away and went to tend to his horse. Ed turned back to Jack. "What's got into him?" he asked. "You've been gone a while, Jack. The gang couldn't do any of the things we used to do with you gone." Jack sighed in mid thought. "He's acting like I died or something. I didn't change..."

"Jack... just forget it, okay? You said we have other matters of business to attend to...The survivors?" Ed said trying to calm him down.

Jack sighed again. "Right. You guys should get some sleep. It's..." He took out his pocket watch. "Wow! One o'clock. We gotta head to Tall Trees in the morning and search for the last two survivors."

Ed left to go get Randall. Jack led them to the upstairs floor of the saloon. They all slept in the one room that his father purchased. Jack took the bed close to the right wall of the room. Randall took the bed on the north side and Ed offered to sleep on the floor using his hat and over jacket as a makeshift pillow and blanket.

"Jack, just out of curiosity, how many survivors are left?" Randall asked. Jack turned his head and his body in bed facing the ceiling, "I think they said eighty are left." Randall's eyes were wide. "Damn..." he exclaimed silently. "After we rescue these last two, will it be eighty-two?" Jack guessed. "_If_...and _if_ we rescue them, then I suppose so..." They all had worried looks upon their faces as they all fell asleep drifting into an uneasy slumber.

Morning came and Randall was the first to awaken around five-thirty. Jack and Ed woke fifteen minutes later. He already fed and watered the horses for the journey. "Ready to go?" He asked as he mounted his horse. They both nodded and rode to the forest of Tall Trees searching for the last two survivors.


	2. Fallen

John didn't know when Jack would arrive at his former home but he stayed there all night and well into the afternoon. He was very protective of this place. The sun was high up in the air. For some odd reason, John didn't like being in the sun. He couldn't figure out why. He much rather preferred the cool, dark, damp forest. At least there were some clouds in the sky.

The survivor trio stopped at the three way sign just before they officially entered the undead territory. Jack looked upon the road that lead to his last home. He wanted to go there alone.

"Which way should we start looking?" Randall asked as he pulled out his gun.

Jack pointed them to Tall Trees. "Let's split up, You two search directly at Manzanita and I'll take wherever this road leads to..." Ed turned to Jack worried. "Are you sure?"

Jack said sternly, "I can take of myself, damn it. Now **GO!**" He sighed heavily and continued in calmer voice. "If you need me, just call my name. We're a good distance."

That said, the three hesitantly parted ways.

He spurred his horse into a slow trot. Reaching the entrance, he pulled back on the reins motioning for the animal to stop. For cautious reasons, he took with him his Bolt Action rifle while leading the horse in so it wouldn't get attacked. It all seemed so different now. Like as if it was completely devoid of life. It was so quiet. He could hear the sound of the trees and bushes rustling in the wind and the dry grass crunching with every step. He swore he could hear his own heartbeat.

He wandered around his ranch searching for any signs of the last two survivors. He checked the barn. How strange...it was boarded up. It wasn't like that when he left.

So long since he entered this house. He looked around inside looking through his room. Papers, ink and a book cabinet just for him, built by his father, filled with his favorite books:

'_Red & Dusty'_

'_Moonlight Harmonica'_

'_Josey Eastwood's Tale'_

He was even going to write a novel about his father and his gang life. All the material was still here. He couldn't remember where he left off writing the story; only getting up to the tenth chapter. He had a life here that was short lived; taken away all for betrayal. That one man...Edgar Ross. It made him feel nauseous to say the name, let alone think it. He shook off the feeling and got back to his mission.

Coming outside, he looked around again. Up on the hill, he saw a figure on what looked like a burning horse, standing next to his father's grave.

"HEY!" He shouted. The figure turned his head to him and trotted off into hiding. Jack followed to go investigate.

Ed and Randall searched all over Manzanita Post for the two survivors. Just as they were about to assume the worst, a sound began to grow louder and louder coming from one of the five tents. What they saw froze them in their steps...

The figure Jack was walking towards was even perched even higher on the hill behind the fence, overlooking the ranch. _'Who is that? Whoever he is, in some weird way, he looks familiar...'_ He then heard Randall yelling his name. Wasting no time, he whistled for and mounted his horse, racing to the post. Jack dismounted and ran to the last tent in the back.

"What?! What happened?" Ed pointed behind him. Jack was in shock.

A young teenage boy covered in blood...quivering...clutching a shotgun with fear and anxiety...sobbing silently for what he had done. Jack knelt down beside him putting a hand on his shoulder. The boy turned and hugged him. "I killed him. I-I didn't want to but..., h-he was bitten and was about to turn..." Jack felt sympathy for the boy. He too lost his father when he was young. Too painful to remember...

He motioned for the boy to go over to Ed and wait while he examined the father's corpse. The head was shot clean off. Blood was splattered, dripping and leaking down all over the back cloth of the tent. Clothes tattered and ripped as if there had been a struggle between the father and the creature. Claw marks, the man was scratched in all different directions dug deeply into his flesh. The bite mark was near the jugular. He turned back to the boy.

"When was your father bitten?" Softly asking. The boy stared at his feet. "Last night..." He choked out, still holding Ed's hand tightly.

'_Last night.'_ How strange...It looked as if he had been dead for at least three years. Crazy how this undead disease spreads throughout the body quickly. Jack stood back up. "Come on, let's get this boy to Fort Mercer." Ed and Randall nodded and followed suit. The young boy rode with Jack. Everyone was on lookout, protecting the teenager.

"What's your name, son?" asked Randall. "Andrew..." He whimpered. "How old are you?" The teenager replied, "I'm only thirteen."

He was astonished. "Wow! Thirteen years old and you know how to use a gun. That's incredible!" Andrew smiled. "Thanks, my pa started to teach me when I was going on eight. Then he was going to take me hunting when I was to turn fifteen."

They reached their destination at the front gates by the time the sun was setting. Going in, Andrew ran to his family consisting of his aunt, uncle and little sister. He pulled them to meet his savors. "Auntie, this man saved me from those creatures!" She went and individually shook their hands.

"Thank you for bringing my nephew home." His uncle proudly said.

Jack returned the thanks with a tip of his hat and a smile. Ed and Randall did the same.

Inside the fort, food was pass around for dinner. A piece of chicken and a cup of water. Jack stared at his food. He kept thinking about the mangled corpse of Andrew's father and set his food aside. Randall turned to Jack. "Hey, are you gonna eat?" He shook his head from side to side. He thought about the barn being boarded up. Never was it like that.

"Nah. I'm not really that hungry. Listen, guys, I'm gonna head back to West Elizabeth. I think I left something." They both looked at him with eyebrows raised. "Okay, Jack. Just be careful." Jack rolled his eyes and walked off. Mounting his horse, he sped off.

John was in the barn trying to sleep but couldn't. Seeing his son for the first time, all grown, made him worry about his safety. On the verge of closing his eyes, he heard the galloping of a horse and someone shouting. "HYAH! FASTER!" John recognized the yell.

His son...? It couldn't be...

Peaking out of the top barn window was a rider on a black horse. He jumped out and stood in the exact same place he died hoping his son would recognize him. Jack dismounted and saw something in front of the barn. Someone standing...

He thought his mind was playing tricks on him and unknowingly aimed the gun at his father. John walked closer, stepping into the moonlight.

Jack noticed how this particular undead walked as if human, even though his posture was tilted slightly to the left side. It wasn't like the others; some crawling on all fours, some dragging behind them dislocated body parts, making loud groaning moans and arms flailing about all in the air. Neither was it charging at him. It had full control of it's body.

"...Jack...son...?" John tried to speak.

He relaxed his stance and widened his eyes. It sounded demonic, but he heard it clearly. He lowered the gun and squinted his eyes, taking in every detail of the undead's body. _'No, no, impossible...'_ He thought, shaking his head in disbelief. Only five people in his whole life knew his name. His mother, uncle, two friends and...his father. Feeling stunned, he answered back.

"F-father?" Jack stuttered in fear.

The undead gently growled, nodding his head slowly. "It...is...me...Jack...don't...be...afraid." John walked closer. Jack began to back away. "I saw you die over there!" He pointed to the barn.

"Dead...but...rising." He groaned.

Jack raised an eyebrow. "What?! How can you even be alive?! You're not even remotely like the others! You're different, but how?!"

John reached around his neck and untied the string that hung a small tube of holy water. He gently placed it in his son's hand. "Holy...water...blessed." He covered his chest with his hand where his heart was. "Soul...pure." Raising his arm, he tapped his skull with his finger. "...Remember..." Jack smiled and they shared a small moment as father and son; embracing each other, trying to reclaim the missing years catching up.

John told of his story coming back to life two years ago, teaching the undead and becoming the self proclaimed, '**Leader of the Undead Community**'. Jack jokingly said he would write about that. He told his father of him leaving the ranch and going to New York to fulfill his writing career but later came back to be a rancher. John was proud of that but wished he stayed in New York.

"Why...come...back?" John growled.

"Because you wanted me to be a rancher. When I left to become a writer, I thought it would be the right choice since I had nothing here but I felt homesick and guilty about leaving this place. Besides, city life doesn't even compare to a simple life here. This is my home, father. Nothing can change that."

John snorted in acceptance. He also hated the city. "Welcome...always."

The moon shined down on father and son. They talked for some time sitting on the steps of the front porch. "So, how exactly did you come back? I mean, I know what the holy water does for you but I'm talking about _you _physically, not spiritually."

"An...cient...mask...gone."

Jack looked to his father. "What mask? What does it look like?" John tried to speak. "Green...Aztec...mask." Jack asked once more. "_Where_ is it though?" John replied "Don't...know...stolen." He stood up and saw the midnight moon. "Well, I guess that means we're going to have to find this mask. Come on, let's try and get some sleep." John got up and growled. "You...sleep...I...guard."

Jack watched his father pull out his own shotgun and load the bullets in. He patted his shoulder and smirked. "Alright, you just be careful now." He warned and went inside to rest.

Back at Fort Mercer, Ed and Randall were also getting ready to bed down for the night. "Hey," Randall asked. "Did Jack say when he was going to return?" Ed shrugged his shoulders and mumbled an '_I don't know_' before laying down on the bed. "He can take care of himself. I'm sure he's taking refuge somewhere for the night. He'll be here tomorrow." Ed yawned before going to sleep.

In the morning at Beecher's Hope, Jack awoke to a rustling noise. He stepped out of his room. "Dad...?" No one was in the house '_Might be coming from outside._' He thought.

No noise either. It was kinda creepy. Only the sound of the wind blowing and the sound of his own heavy breathing. Walking ever so slowly, he heard low, multiple growlings coming from the back of the house. "Dad?" He asked again.

It wasn't his father. It was a small horde of five undead devouring a carcass. One of them caught the scent of Jack and looked in his direction. The others smelled him also. He backed away as the horde came at him fast, gathering speed, savouring the scent of a meal to come. He ran back to get his gun but as he turned the corner of the house, five more undead blocked his path. They all had their arrows pointed at him. He sought protection in the barn which was the closest cover.

John was riding around in Tall Trees looking for abandoned campsites as they had supplies. The undead that followed him earlier rode up to him. "Where...you...been?" John growled sensing the threat in his voice.

"Protect...son...came...here...on...his...own."

The undead proceeded to block his path, stopping his undead horse in front of him.

"Not...safe...here...for...son...needs...to...go...back."

Entering his ranch, he saw ten undead trying to rip off the wooden boards that were hammered on the doors. He dismounted Death and roared very loudly. "RRRAAAUUUGGGHHH!"

The horde turned and looked at John. He was growling very low like a lion. Jack peaked out from the top floor of the barn.

One of the undead walked over to John. He spoke and pointed at the spot where Jack was. "Living...hiding...kill...and...eat." John pushed him away and knocked him into the dirt.

"LIVING!...IS!...MY!...SON!"

He then pulled out his pistol and shot the head. The body fell back to the dirt that was bathed in blood, motionless. He looked at the others who were just staring at him. He put his pistol away, establishing his dominance over the rest of the undead.

"GO...BACK...TO...FOREST!" He yelled.

The horde ran off quickly. Jack jumped down from the barn. "Thanks, Dad." He turned to his son, worried. "Are...you...okay?" Jack nodded but was still in shock. He looked around. "Not...safe...here...must...go...back." Jack put a hand on his father's shoulder. "How can I go back? Those creatures ate my horse!" John whistled loudly two times.

In the distance, over the hill, came running a red, flaming horse. Its mane and tail were ash at the top but still burned at the tips. Its hooves were ablaze and the eyes were a hellish, bright red color. From its neck to its behind, the coat was covered with centuries worth of battle scars.

War, the second Horse of the Apocalypse, stood on its hind legs and bucked its front hooves, whinnying demonically.

Jack could not believe his eyes. "You want me to ride _THIS_ horse?!" He approached it, lowering his hand above the horse's body. He pulled his hand away. "He's too hot!" John grabbed his son's hand tightly. "Dad?! What are you doing?!" He tried to pull away. "Trust...me."

John pulled out his hunting knife and sliced a small line across Jack's palm. He gritted his teeth in pain. John used his finger to wipe some of his son's blood on War. The blood bubbled and sizzled, dissolving into the coat. War neighed softly and shook his mane in acceptance.

John extended his arm to the horse as if to say 'Are you getting on or not?' Jack mounted the horse and was surprised. He wasn't on fire and neither were his clothes. "Whoa!" He exclaimed in amazement. He leaned forward and touched War's mane. It was warm. "Thanks, Dad!" John gave him a black bandana to wrap the wound in.

"Meet...near...hanging...rock...at...sun...set."

Jack tipped his hat and rode off returning to the safe zones and his friends.


End file.
